


Pothos

by moonflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Christmas, Nightmares, No Heat/Rut, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Post-Season/Series 02, Robin is here because we love her, Scenting, boys being emotional, the only thing we still have is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: He felt like the rabbit and the fox all at once, the thrill of chasing and being chased, a circle,whole.He might’ve felt stupid about it, if it hadn’t been so intense. Robin always told him he fell for people too easy – and fine, she was right – but this was something else. Or maybe not yet, butoh manhe was starting to think he wanted it to be. And it was probably idiotic of him to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help but think maybe Billy did too; watching Steve from behind a tired and quietly angry veneer, a little twist of hope just visible through the mask.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 15
Kudos: 167
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	Pothos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highsmith (quimtessence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/gifts).



> For Highsmith – hope I managed to land somewhere near what you asked for lol.  
> Quick reminder that I’ve used practically none of the traditional tropes that come with A/B/O. The only thing that you’ll see in any meaningful capacity is scenting – I hope that’s okay. Set after season two, but with bonus Robin. I've rated this E just to be safe, but it's flirting with more of an M rating, I think.  
> I’ve wanted to use something from Ancient Greek myth as a title for ages and this seemed like a good time to indulge myself. Pothos was one of the love deities under Aphrodite, and loosely speaking, representative of languorous longing, yearning, and sexual desire.

“How’d it go?” Robin was in his kitchen when he got back from driving Dustin to the middle school dance, licking Dorito dust off her fingers and thumbing through one of the home décor magazines his mom liked to fan out on the coffee table. She’d already put the spare key back under the mat.

“Uh, fine I guess,” Steve kicked off his shoes and went straight to the fridge for a beer, briefly meeting her eye in their reflection in the night-dark window. “Dustin’s hair looked pretty sharp, so,” he shrugged, “not all bad.”

Robin snorted into the glossy pages. “I’ll bet.” He was relieved she was over already. Meant he wouldn’t have to call her up and ask her to stay, which always felt like she was doing him a favour, no matter how much she rolled her eyes and insisted otherwise. Was glad his parents wouldn’t be home for another couple days and she could be there without them asking him a boatload of infuriating questions and shooting her dirty looks, so she could chatter away and tease him about his movie collection and he wouldn’t have to think about anything.

“Almost made me miss middle school, actually,” he said, sliding onto the stool across from her.

Her face scrunched up in a wince. “Really? The first round of zits and pre-pubescent heartbreak?”

He shrugged, tried to look unaffected. “Things were easier.”

“For you, maybe.” Robin dusted the last of the orange off her hands and flopped the magazine shut. “You saw the princess then, huh. She dropping off her little brother?”

“No, she was serving the punch,” he took a sip of beer and frowned. “How did you know?”

“You’ve gone all,” she waved a hand at him, wrinkled her nose in distaste, _“wistful.”_

He laughed, pinged the tab on the beer can under his thumbnail. “Wistful? No man, it’s not like that. I actually feel a little better about her.” The pang of sadness when he’d seen Nancy across the decked out, spangly gym had dulled away to nothing already, left him feeling... not empty exactly, but blank. Like he’d turned over to a fresh page, but he could still see marks where he’d pressed too hard on the page before. Robin probably would have laughed at him for the shitty analogy had he tried to explain it out loud, but that didn’t matter. Point was, after a few weeks of stewing in it, the worst of the hurt was over.

“Mhmm, sure.”

“I mean it!” he insisted, nudged her across the counter. “Time to move on, and whatever.”

Robin snorted. “Great, but if you think I’m gunna fill in for an alpha bro and tell you you should never have bothered going after a beta and go find some cute little omega to hop on your dick to cheer you up, you’re going to be disappointed.” Robin took her beta status very seriously; she was a member of just about any school society that would have her, and always had a stack of pamphlets on her flavour of the week cause in her backpack. 

“Okay… woah,” he held up a hand in defence, “that is totally _not_ what I was expecting you to say. Or what I want to hear, either. I dunno, maybe I’ll be by myself a little while.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it, Steven,” she rolled her eyes, “haven’t seen you without a girlfriend since you were twelve.” She dragged back the magazine to show him an article about Christmas table centrepieces that had apparently made her lose her shit.

They went to bed not long after; Dustin had a ride home from the dance with Jonathan and Will, so Steve was off the hook. Robin fell heavily into bed next to him, immediately pulling the blankets tight around her and complaining about Steve’s always cold feet, and had he even bothered changing the sheets recently because they smelled like sweat and sadness and Polo. He threw his socks at her. They were well beyond the point of feeling uncomfortable sharing a bed, were used to waking up sprawled over Steve’s sheets once or twice a week, all sleep-breath and worn-soft tee shirts. She still smelt like Doritos despite brushing her teeth, of bubble-gum shampoo and the odd metallic smell of her tangle of necklaces and bangles on warm skin. She was telling him about her dad’s dreadful but heartfelt efforts at making her carrot cake for her birthday, and Steve honestly didn’t know what he’d do without her.

He doubted he ever would have known she existed if they hadn’t had detention together a few months back. After he’d stopped trying to get a laugh out of her and she’d stopped rolling her eyes, they’d somehow hit it off. She didn’t know the truth about the lab, Eleven, demodogs or the tunnels, or what had happened to Will and Barb the year before. But, like the rest of the town, she knew about the chemical leak rumours and the disgrace of the department of energy. She knew that he was involved somehow, had seen some shit but wasn’t allowed to talk about it. And that was enough.

“So, you talk to that girl at the drug store again?” he asked. It was pure luck he’d found out about her only liking girls, despite their status. She’d been helping him cobble together an English paper, and song lyrics she’d written about Tammy Thompson had been tucked in with her notes. He’d surprised himself by actually not caring all that much. Steve a couple years ago would have been a total dickbag about it.

“Yeah,” she let out a long sigh. “But I don’t think she’s into it. All about alphas.”

“Ah. You sure?”

She flung an arm across the covers to smack his chest. “Yes, dingus.”

“Sorry.”

“I think I just… want to fall for someone so badly, just to see what it feels like, that…” she hesitated, and he could almost hear her thinking, feel her shaky breath as she searched for the words. “I don’t know,” she sighed, frustrated, “I can’t help but fantasize, just like everybody else.”

“Nothin’ wrong with wanting to be with someone,” he thought of an empty railroad track, a bucket of meat, and the hopeful expression on Henderson’s face when he’d tried to dish out advice about girls. “Makes us all a little crazy, y’know?”

“Mm. But hey, speaking of crazy,” she flopped over onto her front, “Hargrove’s been awful quiet lately.”

“Ugh,” he groaned as he felt Robin gearing up to grill him, “do we really have to talk about that asshole?”

“I’m just saying,” she pushed on, “that I haven’t seen him sniffing around you for a while now. Which is… totally out of character, right? I mean, he’ll take any chance he can to get one up on you.”

“I guess,” he said, and even to his own ears it sounded off, _guilty_.

“Must have found some other alpha to irritate,” she said, and he could practically feel her eyes on him, even in the dark.

“Uh huh.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Spill.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, annoyed at how quickly he’d jumped to defend himself, like he’d done something wrong. “We just uh, kind of silently agreed to stay out of each other’s way after that night, y’know?” Weirdly, he missed the attention. He’d been pissed about Hargrove’s prodding and posturing at the time, but now it was gone… he missed the crackle of the empty air between them. The way it got his blood up when Hargrove flashed him that sharp threat of a smile across the court.

He felt her nod. “Makes sense.” Everyone knew about the fight the two of them had had back in November. How could they not, with Steve’s busted face and Billy sporting his own array of cuts and bruises and a busted lip. Not that unusual, for two teenage alphas at the top of their game. But they didn’t know about Max bringing a bat full of nails down between her brother’s legs, so. He could only guess that was the reason the past month or so had been relatively Hargrove-free for him. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“…Yeah.”

She yawned. “G’night Steve.” She rolled over to face the wall.

“Goodnight.”

_It was dark, dark and gloomy and out of focus, blotches of nothingness at the edges of his vision, his eyes never quite adjusting to the low light. The ground was soft and gave under his feet as he walked, unsure where he was headed, through the tunnels. He couldn’t hear a thing, just a low buzz like TV static or when you stuck your head underwater in the bath, muffled and indistinct. The air was thick and cloying, tasteless, and he couldn’t suck in enough of it, like there was a hand around his throat. Grey vines slipped and slithered over each other, never quite in his line of sight, a constant quiet threat from every angle. That was when he realised there was something after him. He didn’t know what, but the sudden terror was enough to make him start running, and he was almost immediately tripped by the vines, fell face first into their writhing mass, covered in slimy dark goop. Spluttering and coughing, he lifted his head just in time to see the terrible mouth of a demodog split open and scream, inches from his face._

“Hey, no shh it’s okay,” Robin was holding him tight, one hand fisted in his shirt and the other rubbing over his sweaty back, “just a nightmare Steve, you’re fine.” It didn’t happen often, even less so when Robin stayed over, the comfort of not sleeping alone enough to keep them at bay. But it must have gotten her spooked, voice shaking and hands unsteady as she told him over and over he was fine.

“Shit,” he panted into her shoulder, slung an arm around her to pull her even tighter, keep himself anchored in the waking world and out of those fucking tunnels.

“You’re safe,” her voice was still trembling, but he was grateful to her for saying it all the same. He couldn’t close his eyes without that dark, dripping flower-burst opening behind his eyelids. Yeah, he probably wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night.

“I know,” he mumbled, rubbing the drying tears out of his eyes, and looked at the smear of spit he’d left on her shirt during his screaming. If he didn’t feel so shitty he’d be embarrassed, but he doubted she cared anyway. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go watch TV?” she said quietly, once he’d stopped shaking.

“Yeah.”

#

With the car radio playing and the headlights on, Steve found he could bear the dark of a cloudless Hawkins night a little easier. Parked up by the quarry and looking out at the nothingness above the water, he watched the yellow-white of the BMW's lights fade into nothing. He'd have to head back soon; Robin was probably already eating her way through his kitchen cupboards at that very moment as he sat there dwelling on... he wasn't really sure what. School was out at least, and thank fuck for that. Steve had been sleeping terribly, mostly out of the fear of nightmares rather than the things themselves, but things usually went a little better if Robin could stay over. He felt like shit, long story short. And he was tired of sitting at home, staring out into the trees at the back of the house and waiting for something to jump out and take a bite outta him.

So despite feeling safer within him mom’s expensively papered walls than anywhere else, he’d forced himself out into town that afternoon, to maybe try and get himself feeling a little more Christmassy. The streets were full of last-minute shoppers, smells of cinnamon and chocolate and pine, and the clear, sweet tang of people’s general happiness and excitement. He’d seen Max in her puffy red jacket dart into the comic book store to meet the rest of the kids, then Robin working her holiday temp job at Mrs Towkipski’s weird little store that sold homemade soaps and candles and lumpy face creams. The smell in there made him cough, so he’d given her a wave as she helped Mrs Sinclair with her bags and sidled back out again. He’d thought the holiday spirit had maybe rubbed off on him a little, but it was gone again by the time he’d driven up to the quarry. He wasn’t even sure when his parents were going to be home for the holidays yet, and though in general it was easier for him to bumble along without them there, he sort of felt like he needed them, even if only for a little while; that maybe it would help ground him a bit, that half-remembered happy Christmases might make him feel normal.

Another car rumbling up the dirt track startled him, and he turned in time to be half blinded by its lights. By the time he’d blinked the green flashes out of his eyes, the car had rolled to a stop on the dirt and grit at the quarry’s edge. And Billy Hargrove was climbing out of it. _Shit._ And with him came the smell of something clean and sharp and a little hot, salt and cut wood and warm metal. It made his nose itch; cleared away the last of the sweet sickly smells of spices and sugar and anticipation from town. It was an alpha smell, Hargrove’s smell; he knew it from October when the other boy used to get all up in his face in basketball, from November when he’d shoved Steve to the ground outside the Byers’ house. But instead of its harshness making him want to square up, bare his teeth, it made him feel… he wasn’t sure. Riled up, but kind of good? Like, the kind of rush that came with knowing he was about to score the winning point in a ball game, or asking out a girl he knew was gonna say yes. A sort of cockiness, the drive to fight but also to please.

“Harrington,” Hargrove said flatly when he pulled himself out of the Camaro, wrinkling his nose at the mere sight of him. He flipped a cigarette out of the box, didn’t light it. "The fuck are you doin' up here?"

Steve shrugged, tried to ignore the pulsing of his heart in his throat. “Town was too much.”

“Hm,” Hargrove tilted his head to the side like he understood. Steve had tried to avoid him in school after their fight, mostly because he lacked the energy to deal with his bullshit. Which meant he wasn't often close enough to get much of a scent off of him, and gym was always such a mess of smells anyway, all alpha competitiveness and sweat, that he’d been lost. But it was clear now, in the cold empty air above the quarry. And though the smell of him so close and unfiltered still made him tense, want to puff up a little, it was _nice_ too, somehow, and he couldn’t get his head around it.

“Why are _you_ here?” he said to distract himself. “You fancy a round two as a little holiday treat to yourself, or…?”

Billy snorted, briefly studied the rings on his bruised knuckles. “I’m not going to hit you Harrington, Jesus.”

Steve felt like an idiot for saying it the second the words had left his mouth. "Yeah. I know that, I guess..."

“How the fuck would I even know you were up here?” Hargrove said, crossed his arms over his chest against the cold, huffed out a misty breath. “Not everything’s about you, y’know.”

“I do,” Steve said, but couldn't helping pushing back a little. “Not something I thought you'd be able to relate to though, man.”

“You don’t know fuckin’ anything about me, Harrington,” Billy all but growled, a flash of teeth in the dark, and –

Hargrove was all tensed up, crackling with it, and Steve could _feel_ it radiating off him, but he was pretty sure Billy was telling the truth – he wasn’t there to start a fight. And Steve was way too tired to play at that bullshit either. He was curious though. Wanted to hear Hargrove say something he meant, not a distraction or an act.

“I hate Christmas,” Steve sighed, more to himself and the cold night sky than to Hargrove, moved to lean next to him against the Camaro. He ignored the indignant look Billy gave him for it, the way he tensed up even more at Steve invading his space, curled away from him.

“Oh yeah?” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t think of one single reason you could have to bitch about it, pretty boy. I’ll bet your Christmases are right out of a goddamn storybook.”

Steve pushed his hair out of his eyes, rubbed at his nose and hoped Hargrove didn’t see the sting that comment had left him with. “You don’t know me either.” And he still sort of wanted to square up, prove himself, but at the same time he… didn’t? He was fucking lost, honestly, signals from Hargrove and from himself all over the damn place, and he was beginning to think he shouldn’t have let himself out of the house on so little sleep.

“Why do you hate it?” Hargrove said, voice low, and it took Steve a minute to think what on earth he was talking about.

“Oh. I don’t, not really,” he sighed, thought of the smell of the big pine tree they always got in and his mom taking him to see Santa when he was little, how hyped the kids had all been when he saw them earlier, Dustin’s mom’s Christmas sweater and the Santa hat Robin had to wear at work. How he’d be lucky to see his mom smile genuinely at him, instead of the empty smile she wore at their horribly stuffy annual holiday party. “I love it. It’s just… it’s always kind of a disappointment.”

Billy laughed again, a little sad, but a little more sincere. “Hold on to your hat Harrington, but I think there’s a thing or two we actually might have in common.”

Steve looked at him then, properly, more than just the glancing acknowledgement he spared him at school. Took in his face all lit up and somehow softened by the glare of his lights – he should really turn those off – eyes made eerie and still tense as anything. Billy watched him right back. And he looked so sad and smelt so good, and him just _existing_ felt like a challenge Steve had to meet. So he did. Another breath of silence and they fell into each other, hungry and biting, all teeth and shoving and hands fisted tight into shirts. But a handful of heartbeats later it turned hot and sloppy and melting, like butter, and a flood of the smell of him hit Steve in the nose and he groaned, pushed Billy back against the hood of the car, was surprised when Billy let him.

The feeling of another dick pressed up against his felt totally alien. But in a good way, a rush of surprised delight, like the first time he’d slipped his hand into a girl’s underwear and realised he’d made her wet. Nothing like the locker room dick talk, or morning wood waking up after a party, completely unrelated to whatever other boy he ended up crashing near on the carpet. This was sweet with intent. He rocked his hips down into Hargrove’s without thinking, chasing after the sensation and the drag through denim, and something in Billy’s chest rumbled as he heaved Steve up and rolled so their positions were reversed, leaving Steve gasping to catch his breath and biting Billy’s lip. It was the same crackling danger as when the other boy had first eyed him across the school parking lot, but bigger and better. There was something in him still that wanted to _fight_ Billy, get in a hit and score a point, but to impress him, rather than to hurt. He wanted to _win,_ but only to show Hargrove how good he was; to win him over, not to wear him down.

Barely able to hold himself back now he was going – he’d always been that way, lost himself completely when the ball was rolling and everything gone slow and lust-thick – Steve stopped thinking altogether and grabbed at the front of Billy’s jeans. Hargrove’s response was instant; a soft grunt and pushing himself harder into Steve’s hand, into his space. A sudden desperation cutting through his heavy head, Steve yanked at the button on Billy’s jeans, a moment of fumbling before he popped them open, peeled them apart just enough to get a hand inside the too-tight denim. No underwear. Wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it gave Steve a thrilling little kick low in his belly all the same. He palmed at Billy’s dick, hard and blood hot, momentarily clumsy with the way his arm was pressed between them and the smell of him rushing to Steve’s head. Once he had a grip on him, just this side of too hard, Billy fucked down into Steve’s closed fist, a soft little breath leaving his lips with each coiling roll, and Steve blearily wished they were somewhere less logistically challenging than the hood of Billy’s car. Hargrove’s face was buried in his neck, a mess of little wet kisses and licks and scrapes of his teeth going cold in the night air as he trailed along Steve’s jaw. He could hear him taking in the smell of him, with panting, eager breaths, just as hooked as Steve was. Frustrated by the awkward position and the amount of clothes in the way, Steve stroked at Billy a harder, messier, hand wet with precome, surprised and more turned on than ever when he felt the beginnings of Billy’s knot starting to swell under his fingers. Just from a hand job and a heavy make out session? God, that was hot. He groaned, squeezed lightly at the swollen flesh, and in a flash Billy was off of him, all _alpha_ and snarling, _freaked._

_“No.”_

Steve blinked, brain still mostly in his pants. “What?”

He shook his head. “It’s – it can’t be like that, Harrington.” He was already stuffing himself back into his jeans with a wince. “I _can’t.”_

“Hargrove – “ Steve reached out to soothe him without thinking, carried along by his usual drive to touch, to comfort, but –

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” Hargrove smacked his hand away, and Steve drew back, stung. “You – _shit._ Why did you have to… You fuckin’ _asshole,_ Harrington, _shit.”_

“What did I do?” he asked, almost on reflex, desperate to smooth things over.

Billy shook his head. Now the panic, the anger, had ebbed away, he just looked sad. Steve hated it. “Nothin’, pretty boy. You and me just won’t work out, okay?”

“Billy,” Steve tried again.

“Just stay away from me, you hear?” Billy bit out before he could say anything else, shoved at him until he slid off the hood of the Camaro, stumbling to keep his balance. Steve righted himself just in time to catch a glimpse of Hargrove’s face as he climbed hastily back into the driver seat, pale and sad and just _… scared._

He let him drive away, watched the Camaro’s tail lights bob away down the trail, until the roll of its engine had faded into nothing, and he was left with the thick silence of cold air above the water. He could smell Billy on him, that cold water warm metal clarity. Robin would be able to smell it on him when he got home, but really couldn’t bring himself to care.

#

_Hargrove was waiting for him in the gloom. His face was pale against the black mess of vines, grin a dark, sharp slash and a curling tongue and a mouth that split apart as Steve watched, stretched too wide, dripped red then black. And he couldn’t smell anything in his dreams, never could, but he could almost taste something in the back of his throat, something dank, sickly, rotting, that made him cough and gag. He was close, so close that if it was real, Steve would have been able to feel his breath on his skin, the weight and heat of his body. Hargrove was watching him, eyes the only bright thing in the desolate tunnels that lay under the town. Steve took a step towards him, but he just sort off… fell apart, slithered to the ground in a tangle of dark vines that slunk away to mix with the mess of those already covering the walls._

He sat upright when the dream broke, swung his legs over the side of the bed and was ready to run, before reality caught up with him. A noise from the doorway made him look up, see Robin on her way back from the bathroom in an old purple t shirt, standing in the too bright for 2am light of the hall.

“You okay?” she said quietly, feet shifting on the carpet, hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said, head full of the awful gaping smile on dream-Hargrove’s face before he’d fallen to pieces.

“Bad dream?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?” She asked sometimes, probably just because she felt like she should, even though she knew what Steve was going to say.

“No.”

“Okay,” she chewed at her thumbnail. “You wanna watch TV?”

“…Yeah.”

#

“What about Chris? He’s a beta, but I think he’d go for it. Or Melissa?” Robin waved her beer at the girl across the room.

“What about her?”

Robin shrugged, shoulder bumping against Steve’s where they sat on the couch, avoiding the spreading stain where Amy D. had dropped her punch earlier on. “She seems sweet, or whatever. Give her your charming boy next door smile, and she’ll be in the palm of your hand.”

“What happened to not trying to hook me up with anyone?” Steve said dryly, watching her over the top of his beer can.

She gave him a dark look. “I know what I said Steven, I’m just trying to get a smile out of you,” she pinched his cheek. “You are being a miserable bastard this evening.”

He knew she was only there for him to begin with; parties like this totally weren’t her jam. Honestly, they were only sort of Steve’s thing these days too. It used to be that a few beers had him at his best, relaxed and happy and at worst a bit too talkative, instead of making him lose track of conversation while he stared a little too hard into shadowy corners. The girl Robin had been trying to talk him into making a move on walked away into the kitchen, no longer blocking Steve’s view of the rest of the room. But there was only one person in the mess of dancing, drinking, laughing kids that caught and held Steve’s attention. Hargrove was dancing with some omega girl from his calc class, slow and dirty, and Steve could smell him across the room. At first, Steve stared, blank with surprise. But before long, the sight of her riding Billy’s thigh like that got him feeling all hot, coiled up, the joke snake about to burst out of a fake tin of peanuts.

“Robin,” he said, confident that no one else in the room could hear or cared what he had to say, “I almost uh, hooked up with someone the other night.” He felt a little bad for not telling her sooner, his best friend and somehow his source for advice in all matters of the heart. But he’d thought the whole mess of situation might’ve been a bit of a stretch, even for her.

“What?” she said, loud in his ear, “and you didn’t tell me? _Asshole._ God, Steve what the – wait,” she paused as she actually took in what he’d said. “ _Almost?_ What happened?”

“They freaked out,” he said, watching the sway of Billy’s hips against the omega he was dancing with.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “But I always kinda got the impression they don’t do… I don’t know, romance? Or just, feelings, at all. Maybe I came off a little desperate, I don’t know.” That last mumbled part was a legitimate fear of his, borne from that last wobbly month or so with Nance, but honestly Billy had seemed about as desperate as he had.

“Steve – “

“But I really like ‘em, Rob.”

“Then I'm sure they'll come around. Who could resist Steve-The-Hair-Harrington, huh?” she smacked him in the arm, delighted and edging towards the wrong side of tipsy. “Now, who the fuck is it?”

“Just… a guy,” he said, giving Robin a look he hoped she understood, “another alpha.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding sagely as she took another drink, “that’s… unexpected. But fuckin’ good for you, Steve Harrington. They like you back, right?”

“I can’t…” he trailed off, distracted, because Billy wasn’t dancing with the girl anymore. He was scowling at the carpet as he stomped his way over to the stairs, alone.

“Oh,” Robin said, and from the wide-eyed look she was giving him, he guessed she wasn’t quite drunk enough to not be able to put two and two together. _“Oh._ Well, what are you waiting for?"

“What?”

“Hargrove looks like he could use a little company there, Steve.”

“Huh?”

She nudged him, none too gently, in the ribs. _“Go on,”_ she insisted, “if nothing else, go give him a shoulder to cry on, dingus.”

“Okay,” he said, a little wobbly now he was on his feet, and scrubbed a hand through his hair, “okay. Uh, thanks Robin. I’ll um, see you later?”

“Yes, now go!” she waved an impatient hand at him before snatching his beer away.

He found Hargrove not in the bathroom where he’d expected to, but in what he assumed was the bedroom of their hosts’ kid brother. Which was… weird. Totally didn’t match the mood. Hargrove spun around when he heard Steve close the door behind him, and it was the first time they’d looked each other in the eye since Billy’d run out on him at the quarry.

“Uh, hey man,” he frowned at the neatly painted hot air balloon on the sky blue walls, “why are we in here?”

“Steve?” He said, and it was quiet and small and not _Harrington,_ none of the usual snap or the purring threat that might come along with it. Steve wondered if Billy would dare use that voice with anyone else that was under the same roof as them at that exact moment, felt an odd twist of happiness when he concluded that probably not. “ _We_ aren’t anything Harrington,” he said, and okay they were back to surnames, but it was tired, no bite, “I didn’t plan on ending up in here,” he gestured around to the small child’s bed, the giant stuffed giraffe, and the soccer ball patterned lampshade, “I just didn’t wanna be down _there_ anymore, happy?” His voice sharpened at the end, like he was trying sound angry but couldn’t quite dredge it up.

“Me neither.” That was sort of a lie. He hadn’t been having the worst time, didn’t hate it, he just… couldn’t ignore the other boy like he used to.

“Shit,” Billy sniffed and rubbed angrily at his nose, and it hit Steve then that he might have hightailed it upstairs to hide that he was upset.

“Hey man, don’t,” he said softly, without stopping to think that pointing out he’d noticed Billy was crying when he was obviously trying to hide it might’ve been a dumb move, “you’ll make me start up too. I cry easy.”

“I’m not,” he hissed. “Now leave me alone Harrington, I came up here by myself for a reason, dumbass.”

“I don’t wanna.” Apparently, these days he had a head for danger that seemed to overlap into all areas of his life, not just hunting interdimensional monsters with a baseball bat. And it looked like prodding at an already volatile Billy Hargrove might've be one of ‘em.

“Why not?” he said a little thick, a little hurt. “Thought you’d be happy to be shot of me.”

“Yeah well, didn’t sound like you meant it,” Steve said, crossed his arms, tried to look like he knew what he was doing.

“You’re a fuckin' brat, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yep.”

Billy’s lip curled, a little more of that snarling, puffed up alpha that Steve was used to dealing with seeping through. A little more of that either fight me or leave me the fuck alone attitude, and he still didn’t know how much was for show and how much was genuine. Steve felt compelled to distract him, to hand over a little weakness of his own so Billy could bat it around like a cat with a mouse, to put them back on almost even ground after Steve had caught sight of his tears and accidentally exposed a soft spot.

“I have dreams,” he said, then scrambled to find something to follow it up with that didn’t make him sound absolutely barking and/or totally shit on all the nondisclosure forms he’d had to sign twice over, “about people dying. Since the chemical leak thing, y’know? That girl, Barb, she was Nancy’s best friend,” he pressed on, hoping Billy’d cared enough to read the papers, “she died in my pool. I dream it’s me instead, lost in the dark…” he trailed off when he realised Billy was staring at him.

Hargrove blinked, and Steve belatedly wondered if he’d have been better off keeping his mouth shut. “You’re fucking weird Harrington,” he rolled his eyes, but he’d loosened up ever so slightly, looked a little pleased with himself, like he was surprised Steve trusted him enough to dump his baggage on him. And he smelt… he smelt _good_ and familiar, after the quarry, after that kiss, and Steve was suddenly desperate for him not to slip through his fingers again.

“Why’d you leave?” he said, kinda running on auto, the words slipping out of his mouth before his brain could catch up and stop them, “at the quarry.”

Billy snorted, tossed his perfect little curl off of his forehead and folded his arms, muscles bunching where he tensed. “Because I made a mistake. Shouldn’t have let you… y’know.”

“Oh?” Steve said, a little spike of sarcasm, making him feel a bit more ready for a fight himself, “didn’t know you could make mistakes, Hargrove.”

He sighed. “Nobody’s perfect, pretty boy.”

“I didn’t want you to go,” Steve said, quieter than he’d meant, low enough that his voice cracked.

“I had to,” Billy pleaded, “I don’t do shit like this, Harrington. I I - really fucking like you, you son of a bitch.” He laughed at his own admission, sad, almost breaking into a sob.

“Okay,” Steve said, wary of saying too much and scaring him off again. Also he just didn’t know what to fucking say to _that._ “Did you… want to go?”

“No.”

Something in Steve thrilled at that. The same as he’d felt shoved up against the hood of the Camaro… what he’d felt like with Billy in his space, warm and heavy and growling, the smell of him, clean and sharp and delicious, heady enough to make Steve want to push back, bare his own teeth, kiss or bite or lick or snarl. He’d felt like the rabbit and the fox all at once, the thrill of chasing and being chased, a circle, _whole._ He might’ve felt stupid about it, if it hadn’t been so intense. Robin always told him he fell for people too easy – and fine, she was right – but this was something else. Or maybe not yet, but _oh man_ he was starting to think he wanted it to be. And it was probably idiotic of him to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help but think maybe Billy did too; watching Steve from behind a tired and quietly angry veneer, a little twist of hope just visible through the mask.

“Can I…?” he stretched out an unsteady hand towards Billy, like he was a nervous dog, felt like kind of a dick about that until Billy nodded, once, sharp, but stayed in place and waited for Steve to come to him. Steve walked across the carpet, breath quickened. But he didn’t kiss him right away, like he’d expected himself too, like he wanted.

Billy was practically trembling under Steve’s lips as he kissed along Billy’s neck, nuzzled under his chin and jaw, breathing in the smell of him, deep and long, couldn’t help but rub his cheek against his hot skin and hope his smell stuck a little bit. Not that it stood a chance alongside Billy’s violent overuse of cologne. Then Billy made a noise, a quiet growling whine, and grabbed Steve by the back of the neck to haul him up for a proper kiss, a wet biting crush, messy until they found something of a rhythm, a give and take, Billy sucking on his tongue.

Steve had always enjoyed kissing, something the other guys had given him shit for while they talked crap in the locker room, but he’d never kissed anyone quite like he was kissing Billy Hargrove just then. Like they were trying to swallow each other whole. A push and pull that felt _right,_ an empty space filled, as cliché as that sounded. He slid his hand inside the gaping front of Hargrove’s shirt, palm over the hot skin, felt Billy’s breath catch at his touch. Steve bit on his kiss-plumped lower lip, like his tooth in his flesh would keep him from leaving, and put his hand to where Billy’s dick was filling out through his jeans. This time Billy pushed up into his touch instead of pulling himself away. It made Steve’s belly drop in a way hot and thrilling, cock kicking at the feel of him, harder and wetter in his underwear with each inhale. He grabbed hold of Billy’s shoulder and brought their hips together, rough and overeager and making the pair of them stumble and lose their footing, Billy’s hand flying out to grab at a shelf for balance and knocking a pile of brightly coloured, thick-paged kids’ books onto the floor. They broke apart with a hissed gasp of surprise and, snapped a little ways out of the heady trance he’d fallen into, Steve eyed the mess guiltily. He'd left worse messes at people's house parties, but still.

“We uh,” he swallowed, his voice too loud, “we probably shouldn’t be doing this here.”

He looked from the books to Billy, his face flushed and blond curls fluffed where Steve’s hands had been running through them, propped up against the sky blue wall. For a fraction of a second, his guard was still down, and Steve saw the ripple of disappointment on his face, already gearing up to a solid anger he could hide his hurt behind, and hurried to set it right.

“You wanna come to my place?”

For a second, Steve thought he was going to book it again like he had at the quarry, disappear into the dark and leave Steve cold and alone in every sense, aching for him. But then he smiled, small and self-conscious, tooth catching in his lip to keep it from spreading.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t going to be the answer to all of Steve’s problems. He was still going to have bad dreams, ones full of petal-mouthed monsters and never-ending tunnels and writhing black vines choking him before he could escape. He was still going to wonder if his parents would stick around for more than one night this time, and he was still going to worry if his grades would stay high enough for him to graduate next year. But, just for a second, with Billy looking at him like that, like Steve was worth taking a risk for, all of that shit went away.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending's a little fade to black lol I’m sorry. Any longer and it would have gotten totally out of control.


End file.
